


are you sure it’s supposed to feel this way

by Madeofsequins



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pynch Week, Pynch Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 22:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15447624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madeofsequins/pseuds/Madeofsequins
Summary: Two funerals [pynchweek 2018 day 4: death]





	are you sure it’s supposed to feel this way

Ronan and Adam have been together one night - one charged, feverish whirlwind of a night, when all their other problems took a backseat for a few glorious hours - when Ronan’s mother dies.

Ronan’s mother dies, then Adam and Ronan both almost die, and Gansey does die for a little while. The days that follow are filled with psychic debriefings, nights at Monmouth when everyone is still too rattled to disperse, and one small, somber funeral for Aurora Lynch.

Declan brings Matthew down from DC for the day. Matthew grips Ronan’s hand like a lifeline during the service. His serious face and white knuckles and huge, sad eyes hit Ronan like an open-handed blow to the chest. To lose not only their mother, but also Matthew’s uncomplicated good cheer -- life is overwhelmingly terrible and nothing is fair. Ronan itches to punch a dent in the pew with his free hand, but just as his fingers begin to curl, Adam moves his own fingers to rest, cool and dry, on the inside of Ronan’s forearm. Ronan squirms and rolls his shoulders but doesn’t move away.

They bury Aurora next to her husband in a remote garden at the Barns. Aurora had designed and kept up this garden herself after they buried Niall here years ago, and Ronan can see his mother’s whimsy in every flower and vine, in the elegantly curling garden gate and the small birdbath nestled in an old oak.

When he feels the back of his throat burning and he can’t look at the garden any longer, he turns to Adam. Adam is already looking back at him. It’s a relief to find no pity or expectation in Adam’s steady gaze - Adam, who knows all about surviving the worst that can happen and coming out the other side whole. 

The priest finishes his graveside words, and Declan leads him back to the house, Matthew trailing behind. Gansey and Blue, who have been respectfully silent, move to follow. Adam tilts his head incrementally, a question in his eyes. Ronan gives his shirtsleeve a single, short jerk - _stay, please stay_. Adam stays.

They sit in silence on a cold stone bench. Ronan rips up grass and pulls apart the strands; Adam absently toys with Ronan’s leather straps until he dozes off. The Orphan Girl shows up at some point when the weak winter sun is low in the sky. It’s almost fully dark before Ronan moves, nudging at Adam until we wakes, and the three of them finally walk toward home.

\---

Ronan and Adam have been together three years when Adam’s father dies. Adam is back at the Barns for winter break, commuting to UVA three days a week for a short internship between semesters. He gets a call early in the morning on the first day of the new year. His mother is on the other end.

The call quality is terrible, from her cheap phone or the Barns’ remote location or maybe both, and Adam can’t detect any emotion from her flat tone, but the message itself is clear enough: there was a automobile accident last night, and Adam’s father is dead. Adam guesses there was alcohol and poor judgement involved, but she doesn’t offer the information and he doesn’t ask. It doesn’t matter now.

He can’t think of anything to say besides, “okay,” so he does, and then the conversation is over. It takes him a few minutes to drag his gaze away from where it rests unfocused on the blank screen of his cell phone. When he looks up, Ronan is awake beside him. He’s flipping a cog between his fingers, presumably some creative replacement part for one of the machines in his ever-growing farmer’s arsenal, but his attention is all on Adam.

Although Adam hasn’t said a single word other than his closing “okay,” Ronan seems to just _know_. After a moment, he sets the cog down on the bedside table and takes Adam’s hand, still gripping the cell phone, moving it out of his lap and covering it with his own.

They stay like that for what feels like a long time. Adam’s thoughts are racing, playing back every horrible thing his father ever said to him, every time his lifted his hand to Adam, every tiny scrap of affection young Adam tried to harvest from his family.

Ronan is silent and steady at his side, although he must be anxious to get up and attend to the farm. Amidst his own turbulent thoughts, Adam remembers being cold to his bones on a bleak November afternoon, a funeral with no body, hours and days spent at Ronan’s side in near silence.

He inhales shakily. “I need to iron my suit.”

*  
They go to the funeral. Adam doesn’t really want to, and Ronan definitely doesn’t want to, but somehow they end up at the church on Sunday morning. They don’t speak to anyone, and no one speaks to them, not even Adam’s mother, who looks very alone even as the townspeople of Henrietta surround her to offer their condolences. The townspeople who knew his father, the people who must have known about him, maybe even neighbors who had seen them all together. The collar of his dress shirt feels like it might choke him.

The gravesite clears quickly. Maybe his father’s friends are going to pay tribute to him down at the local bar, and wouldn’t that just be fitting. Adam watches his mother leave in a wave of women, all of them slumped-shouldered and tired-eyed in their cheap dark dresses.

When they’re alone, Ronan pulls a beer from inside his suit jacket pocket and hands it to Adam. It’s a cheap beer in a silver and blue can, mass-produced somewhere in the midwest, probably something his father drank hundreds of times. Adam cracks it open and empties a healthy pour over the freshly-shoveled dirt. He hands it back to Ronan to finish, if he wants it. Ronan takes a long sip, his head tipping back and exposing his throat; Adam’s eyes slide to the long column of his neck. Finally, Ronan stops drinking, and he messily spits out most of the beer over the fresh grave in a truly disgusting fashion. Adam can’t help but cough out a shocked sort of laugh, even as he objects, “these are my nicest shoes, you asshole.”

“He didn’t deserve your nice shoes. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Ronan crushes the empty beer can with a pointed stomp of his dress shoe, yanks his keys out of his pocket, and they go home.


End file.
